The Scars in Your Eyes
by The Dark Knightress
Summary: The scars in her eyes are silent forever, but she can't be silent anymore.
1. The Letter

**_Author's Note: _**I've taken a break from using my imagination and creating some new stories. As of now, I've come to that point where I'm re-writing some (most) of the stories on my archive. Hahahaha…so much for creativity. _Little Blue Eyes _is one of my personal favorites, and it earned first place in the re-write write-up. :D So, everyone, here's some of the changes:

**_Change 1) _**Title change. Surprise! Changing the title makes me feel like I'm actually changing the story…not copy-catting. I think the new title fits great, and I can't wait to see how it takes off with you guys.

**_Change 2) _**Name changes. I'm changing the main character—Serafina Griffyn—to Piper Griffin. I have no idea what I was thinking with Serafina (no offense to all you named Serafina).

**_Change 3) _**Character change. The character Tara Owens, kind of a tossed-together-thrown-in- character, is changing entirely. I'm changing her character into that of a more opposite…a male. The twists involved will throw your mind into a loop and keep you glued to the story. You'll see.

**_Change 4) _**Slight plot change. The old plot to this story needs picked apart, sorted, and glued back together, to say the least. I plan to keep it relatively the same, with some minor adjustments, just not too many.

* * *

**Dedication:**

"_A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice…" _

_Isaiah 42:3_

To those bruised reeds and smoldering wicks….you're not forgotten and you won't be.

You have an Intercessor.

* * *

The little fingers released the brightly colored envelope. It hit the ground silently, and she used the tip of her dirty shoe to quietly slide it under the door. Looking both ways, she darted for the bedroom down the hall, slipping into the shadowy darkness of her room.

The door clicked closed behind her.


	2. The Escape

CHAPTER ONE

The Escape

A shrill bell sounded outside her room in Gotham Elementary. It pierced through the walls and shook the glass windows of the room and the glass on the door, seeming to pulsate through her head like it did every day at ten to three in the afternoon. She heaved a sigh of relief as she began to erase the blackboard behind her, students hustling around the room to gather their strayed belongings.

The last day of school was always the hardest for Melissa Danes. When she first started, everyone told her she'd be glad to be rid of her class—this age in Gotham was always the hardest. But, much to her surprise, Melissa Danes loved these children. She'd dealt with much worse in her neighborhood Elementary school in Illinois. She loved it here.

The line began to form in front of her door. She replaced the eraser, flipped some of her hair over her shoulder and hurried around the desk. She grabbed the stack of envelopes from the edge of her desk as she passed and came to the front of the line. Eager eyes watched her as she grabbed the door knob and twisted it.

Opening the door to the bustling highway of children hurrying towards the awaiting busses, Miss Danes turned on her heel just a few feet out of the thresh hold, smiling at them with moist eyes. She knelt to the ground and nodded for the first few children to exit. They passed her one by one, and she handed them an envelope.

The last little girl, who graciously picked up a folded up piece of notebook paper approached her slowly. Her icy blue eyes were more moist than usual, and she looked deeply pained. She gripped the shoulder strap of her worn backpack and she looked up to Melissa. She smiled and handed an envelope to her. She smiled back and extended the notebook paper.

Melissa unfolded it. In bright Crayola colors she'd drawn two stick figures, one protruding in height above the other. Above them a beautiful rainbow hung in a white and striped sky, and then the words below the two figures read 'I Love You'. Melissa looked up to the little girl and pressed the drawing to her chest.

"Thank you, Piper. I love you too." Normally the board didn't allow such closeness between teacher and student, but Melissa made sure to express her adoration of the child. She hesitated before touching the girls arm, noticing the bruising slightly covered by the stained t-shirt sleeve. Piper Griffin, the quietest girl in her classroom, giggled as she flung her tiny body into her for a hug. She latched on, almost petrified to let go. Melissa made sure to hug her tightly.

"You have a good summer, okay? I'll see you next year." She rubbed the little girls back, trying not to imagine the faded bruising concealed. The little girl nodded into her shoulder and pulled back, her silver-flecked eyes wet with tears. Her face was red and she was sniffling now. Melissa hated to think she was the only person who didn't have anything against this girl.

Or anything to throw against her, anyway.

Her father was one of the richest, most powerful men in Gotham City. If he ever found out she knew, Melissa Danes was out of a job. She'd confronted the situation once at a parent-teacher conference and quickly decided she did not want to meet the man again. He had anger and rage in his eyes—and greed in his soul. He cared nothing of his daughter, nor anything about her education or well-being.

And he certainly didn't care about a teacher's salary.

"You have a good summer too, Miss Danes." Came the reply from the child. She moved passed the teacher, blending with the traffic of students before turning around to shout above the noise. "I love you, Miss Danes!" When the older children began to push and shove past her, she turned to follow them and hurried around the corner, her ringlet curls bobbing as she went.

Melissa Danes wrapped her arms around her stomach and glanced at her desk.

Somehow she'd misplaced the number for Social Services.

* * *

Bruce Wayne reached for one of the grapnel guns before him on the examination table. He found the appropriate compartment on his belt and released one of the hinges on the gun, folding it in half and placing it in the compartment. He clicked it closed casually and turned on his heel.

The emptiness of the storage room caused his footsteps to echo back to him, but he didn't seem to care. He jumped up into the massive tank-like vehicle and closed the hatch-door above him. He flicked some switches, pushed a few buttons and checked the diesel gauge. Blinking, he then looked to the control-dash and glanced at the time. Not too late. The Commissioner would still be at the station.

He threw the vehicle into reverse, whipped it around and headed in the general direction of the police station. He practically punched into second, released the clutch and slammed the gas. The RPM's on the meter roared forward with the engine, and he released the gas, punched the clutch and slammed the stick into third. He checked his speed. Nearly up to 30 now.

Excellent.

So, the phone call hadn't gone as planned. Oh well. He'd half expected—okay, probably didn't expect it that much—her answer. Rachel Dawes, accomplished lawyer and accomplished man-devourer, did know him well, even after resurrection. She knew his type, his ways and his sly charm. She also knew he wasn't the settling down type. He feared that she'd even told him sometime down the line that she wanted a family, wanted a husband and wanted a normal home on a normal plot of land in a normal part of Gotham. She wanted a husband with a normal job and a normal bank account and a normal car. She didn't want the Palasaieds, or the billions, or the Enterprise. She didn't want his father's house or his father's Bentley. She didn't want anything of the Wayne's eccentric lifestyle, nothing at all.

Rachel Dawes wanted normal.

And Bruce Wayne was _not _normal. Not in any sense normal.

He could see her with some Joe Blow; working a basic office job, pushing papers and sucking up to his boss for a dollar raise. Well, if that's what she wanted, he'd give a thousand dollar raise if he could have her back! Bruce knew Rachel wanted a family; children, a dog, perhaps a cat. She wanted an SUV-no wait, a minivan-and screaming toddlers and whining kids and rebelling teenagers. She _wanted _that. He thought at one point all she wanted was him-his heart, his past, his hurt to share and help him through. He thought he would make her happy and they'd be larks together at Wayne Manor, rolling in their billions and taking world cruises and being the hot-story at dinner parties. No; that's not what Rachel wanted. She wanted normal.

And she'd gone for someone else. Someone _else. _Well, he'd expected a doctor or maybe an architect. But not another lawyer.

_Not _another blood-sucking lawyer.

He growled at the thought of her wearing that man's ring, cooking that man's dinner, having that man's hand press against the small of her back. Pain flashed through his soul and spiked into that muscle that pumped blood through his body—now seemingly boiling lava. He hated Harvey Dent for stealing his Rachel. She was meant to be with him, spend eternity with him. Support him. She was the woman to plaster Vouge and Prada and spend his money on jewels and Ferarri's and charities.

Oh, well.

He braked, made a hard left and then another hard right. The station was coming up fast, and so was his emotion. He'd have to get it out of his system before meeting Jim. Jim had a way of sensing when he was off-canter. He was better at reading people than Bruce would've liked. That was fine; he'd just have to get better at shadowing his emotions. He shook his head, braked again and then pulled the vehicle into an alleyway about six blocks from the station. He began to shut down the controls, and close-down the system.

Jumping out of the vehicle, he took off down the alleyway fast, leaving his emotions locked away in his vehicle. He hoped Jim wouldn't be in a face-reading mood tonight. He needed the man to look anywhere; at the city-scape, at the stars, at his watch.

Anywhere but his eyes.

* * *

Her black curls smacked her in the face as she peeked out her window, then whipped around to check her closed door. She cracked her knuckles nervously, wincing as her nails accidentally scraped against a tender bruise on her knuckle. Thankfully her blue jeans covered the ones on her legs, and her t-shirt did little to cover the ones on her arms. She hoped Miss Danes hadn't noticed…

She paced the small bedroom—really it felt like a closet, big enough only for a mattress, a dresser and small nightstand. She had her clothes—whatever ones she could find—shoved into her backpack, all school supplies forgotten in her dresser. Her backpack was sitting on her bed, along with her jacket and the most important friend in the world—her companion, Dodger the beagle.

She paced again in front of the door. "Would you just stop?" She paused her pacing in front of the mattress and held her hands out beside her, as if asking a real question to a real person. The dirty animal just stared, lopsidedly smiling at her as usual—if he could smile. "Don't be so negative!" Her voice rose an octave, and she slapped her hands over her mouth as the girls in the room beside her screamed. She lunged for the bed and grabbed her dog, slinking to the ground and squeezing him tightly. Her heat began to pound hard, like someone was trying to get inside. She buried her nose into the dog and breathed heavily. He just sat, breathing steadily, watching the door and panting.

She knew what was going on in there. Livie and Dottie always got the harder visitors, since they were older. They were always meaner than the ones she got to see—Daddy made sure of that. She was so little and they were so big…she hoped that Dottie and Livie were okay. She said a quick prayer with her eyes pinched shut for them before popping them open again to stare into the darkness.

"You think we can do it?" She whispered into the animal's ear. He began to wag his tail as she stroked his fur. He looked up to her and panted again, squinting his eyes shut and then re-opening them as if he was replying. She looked to the door again and swallowed hard. It remained in place. "I think we can." She slipped into the jacket, pulled on the backpack, and grabbed the worn leash from under her pillow. She clipped it to his collar and headed towards the window.

She pulled it open after much struggle and began to step out onto the fire-escape. She paused and looked over her shoulder. Her curls bounced into her face and she blew them away. She looked again outside to the starry sky and sighed.

She knew she shouldn't do it. Daddy would get mad. If he found her, he'd whip her and beat her and make her hurt. He didn't really care if she cried. He said it built up her tear-ducts and made them stronger. She didn't like when Daddy made her cry and hurt. She wanted him to make her happy and make her laugh. But Daddy didn't laugh. Especially since Mommy had left him and her behind.

Without thought, she scooped Dodger up under the belly and set him on the fire escape. Slipping under the glass window, she fell onto the fire escape with a thunk and quietly slid the window back into place. She made sure it was snug and then checked the remnants in her room: nothing but the bare mattress and dresser with her school stuff. With a quick breath, she took dramatic tippy-toe steps down the stairs, careful not to rattle the metal against the brick building.

She stayed low enough below the windows to remain unseen, but not far enough away yet not to hear the cries and pleas of the other girls. Her stomach hurt thinking about what they were going through—she'd gone through it herself lots of times. Sometimes all night—even when school was the next morning! Daddy's friends would be mean and hit her and spit in her hair. She'd get welts and bruises and cuts lots of the time, too.

But not anymore! She was stronger now, determined. After all…she was six now. Mommy had always said that six was a "ladies" age, and that she was a big-girl now. Even the other girls said that six was better than five. And boy—did it feel better! She felt stronger and bigger and more authoritative—some of the other girls explained that that word meant powerful—and ready to get out of here! Maybe when her Daddy was sorry and better he'd come looking for her and make her laugh. She didn't want to stay and be hurt anymore. She didn't want to cry. She wanted laugh and be strong and have fun!

She wanted to be Piper Griffin. The _real _Piper Griffin.

Because here, she didn't feel real.


End file.
